


The Blackest of Thieves

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Dark, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Past Memory Charms, Power Imbalance, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, past harry/draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In sixteen years, there haven’t been too many moments that have put a smile on Albus Potter’s face. He’s making up for lost time now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blackest of Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for nextgendarkfest and it's my first time tangling with the pair. I generally like to get to know the relationship before I give myself constraints - such as 'dark' here - but I've been meaning to write them forever and I needed the push of a fest to finally get it out of the way. Darkfest happened to be the first opportunity. The title is also a play on Draco's blood line. I had plans of a sort.
> 
> Given the fest I was writing for, it didn't get too dark but I would hardly call it pleasant either. I managed to wrangle an unhappy ending as I so rarely get to do in “conventional” fandom and that was quite fun.
> 
> My prompt was, if you're curious: "Draco is potions professor at Hogwarts during Al's 6th yr. He decides to use his position of power to seduce Al and exact revenge on the boy's family."

 

“I’ve named him Percival,” Lily announced, shoving the fat little Streeler up under Al’s nose. Al blinked down at the lazy little snail. Its shell chose that moment to flicker from mauve to a blushing pink. “He’s right proper,” she said in a drab sort of voice that was painfully exaggerated. Her friend across the way tittered and Lily kept on now that she’d garnered an audience. She pretended to pull glasses from her face and said, “Now, Lily, dear, one really should begin studying for their NEWTs by fourth year. Anyone who tells you otherwise is simply looking to lead you astray.”  
  
James snorted into his potatoes. “That sounds _just_ like uncle Perce, that does.”  
  
Al hitched in his shoulder so Jamie would stop running into it. He didn’t understand why James couldn’t sit like a normal person. Instead he had to take up a whole bench and budge about boisterously.  
  
Lily gave a solemn bow of her head, much to the amusement of the girls in her year. She said in a stuffy voice, still channeling their uncle, “Why, thank you, dear brother.”   
  
Al was less than amused. Lily was always pulling out acts like this – starved for attention as the youngest, she was willing to do most anything to get it. There was an irreconcilable distance between Albus and his sister that stopped him finding her amusing or endearing. Al suspected it was because he still held some residual dislike for her since she’d bumped him into middle child-dom. He’d been sure his parents – more his father really – would dote on her while all of James’ accomplishments made his old hat. But he and his dad were as close as they’d ever been. They had their own discreet club that James and Lily knew nothing of and never would. Al suspected this was because James was still a handful, rambunctious and a bit too close to mean, while Lily simply knew too much. Al had the feeling that his dad was a bit afraid of her and what she might see in him when it came right down to it.  
  
He stared across the hall, incurring a sneer from some random Slytherin fourth year. For the umpteenth time since he’d done it, he wished he hadn’t talked the hat out of sorting him for Slytherin. He’d thought it would be nice to know someone in his house, to be sure that at least one person there was on his side come what may, and so he’d followed James into the lion’s den. Now he wished he’d taken the opportunity presented to strike out on his own. His father had been nothing but enthusiastic in his response to Al’s letter that he’d got into Gryffindor but somehow Al knew he was disappointed.  
  
He was sixteen now, nearly done with school, and he’d made the promise to himself that he would never let fear dictate what his future held again.  
  
Lily’s Streeler chose that moment to make the arduous trek across the table and play along the edge of Al’s plate, looking for a way up. “Percival,” Lily chastised, “where are your _manners_? Acting as if you own the place, _honestly_.” She plucked him up and plopped him down onto her shoulder. The giggling of the fifth year girls turned Al’s stomach. He decided perhaps he was done with his dinner after all.  
  


♕

  
  
NEWTs were just around the corner and Albus had fallen behind in Potions around fifth year and he hadn’t tried to struggle back up past mediocre until now. It meant a lot of reading and failed potions and more time spent in Professor Malfoy’s company than he would have liked, but hopefully he would come out of it with an E in the subject.  
  
He’d had to petition Professor Malfoy for the time. He’d even had to prepare a report on why he felt he’d try harder in private lessons – ‘that came out of Professor Malfoy’s only spare time’ – than he did in classes. Eventually, after all the headaches, Al had got him to agree to the extra sessions.  
  
He showed up five minutes early to find Professor Malfoy’s head bent over a long parchment, his infamous red quill in hand. A sneer was pulling at his mouth and his sharp eyebrows formed a deep and gleeful V over his forehead. Albus cleared his throat.  
  
“You’re early,” he noted dispassionately without glancing up. His quill made a long strike on the parchment.  
  
Professor Malfoy was one of those rare educators that could make anything sound like an insult or a compliment depending on his mood. Albus rarely heard anything but the former. He didn’t necessarily dislike the man – he was a brilliant professor provided you did the work. If you fell behind though – as Albus had – he never lost an opportunity to remind you of it.  
  
“Sorry, Professor,” Albus answered deferentially.  
  
Professor Malfoy let out a hefty sigh. “Yes, well, you’re here now.” He stood and his robes fell perfectly, not a wrinkle in them. That was something Al’s dad could never manage and something Al knew he was secretly envious of. “You’re interested in NEWT preparation, that’s correct?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Professor Malfoy swept out a hand and Al saw a cauldron and a host of ingredients had been set out on one of the student tables in the front of the room. Nerves bubbled up in him as he recognized doxy eggs and powdered unicorn horn, notoriously tetchy ingredients. He wasn’t the strongest brewer and he thought they’d be sticking more to the basics at the beginning.  
  
“No use in going over what you already know, is there?” Professor Malfoy asked, one brow drawn low.  
  
Al hated that he’d been so easy to read and he trotted up to the table morosely, Professor Malfoy’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him to it.  
  
“You’ve brought your Potions textbook with you, I assume?” his professor asked lazily.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Albus put in glumly, envisioning the very unpleasant hour stretched out in front of him.  
  
“Page 276.” When Albus only stood staring down at the page, Professor Malfoy’s eyebrows arched and he said coolly, “I suggest you get started, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Albus nodded, still feeling a bit shell-shocked. He gathered up the first of the ingredients for his Wit-Sharpening potion. He would be surprised if something of this level was on the NEWTs even but he suspected Professor Malfoy wanted him to comment something to that effect. Likely so he could call him a dunce and point out that he was only having him brew a Wit-Sharpening potion since he was clearly in such desperate need of it.  
  
Al sighed and got down to it. The sooner he mucked it up, the sooner Professor Malfoy would come to his rescue and the sooner they could move on from this. Professor Malfoy had moved the chair next to Al back from the table, enough that he’d be well out of range should Albus explode something, while he read a Potions’ Periodical, looking up every so often to check his progress.  
  
For the first ten minutes or so, Al was doing fairly well and Professor Malfoy hadn’t done much more than lick his finger and noisily turn the pages of his magazine. Al slowly started to relax and he was just settling into the dull flow that was potions making when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.  
  
“If you mean to take out a wall of my Potions classroom then you are on the right track for it,” Professor Malfoy said in a dangerous tone.  
  
Al stared up at the armadillo scutes in his hand and then down at his book.  
  
 _Three oz. armadillo scutes, ground in an ivory mortar until reduced to fine powder._  
  
Albus was fairly certain that was exactly what he had in his hand. “Sir?”  
  
“What is your mortar made from, Mr. Potter?” Professor Malfoy asked, an edge to his tone.  
  
“Ivory, sir,” Albus answered with slow confusion.  
  
Professor Malfoy’s grip on his wrist tightened and bordered on painful. “Is it?” he said snidely.  
  
 _“Ivory’s not required by many potions. Hogwarts, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Then marble’s the way to go. It’s more practical and needed for a whole host more potions besides. Hogwarts doesn’t deal with any potions that need ivory, at least they didn’t when I was there.”_  
  
Albus swallowed and hung his head. “Marble, sir.”  
  
Professor Malfoy released his wrist and nodded approvingly. “There’s an ivory mortar and pestle on the bottom shelf in my potions storeroom. You’ll find a new jar of armadillo scutes just above it.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Albus said sullenly. He’d been doing so well too. He’d even been thinking he could impress Professor Malfoy by performing the potion perfectly – or at least adequately – without any input from him. There went that hope down the drain.  
  
Albus pulled the ivory items down from the shelf with a deep sigh. He plopped the jar of scutes down inside the mortar and bundled up his bounty to carry it back to his cauldron. Professor Malfoy was still standing and it didn’t look as if he intended to sit any time soon.  
  
Albus ground up the scutes with the ivory pestle while Professor Malfoy looked over his shoulder. Al’s neck grew hot and he felt like a misbehaving child. He hunched in his shoulders, confidence shot, while Professor Malfoy’s palms came to a rest on either side of his hips, his chin hovering a foot above Al’s shoulder so he could stare into the cauldron.  
  
It was another few minutes before it happened, before Professor Malfoy closed that last bit of distance between them, before Al felt the hot brand of Professor Malfoy’s cock trapped against his arse cheek.  
  
Al’s hand jumped and he nearly dropped double the amount of billywig stings into his potion before Professor Malfoy’s hand reached out to steady his own. “Careful there, Mr. Potter,” Professor Malfoy said lowly, his face turned inward towards Al.  
  
Al swallowed and his head dropped forward involuntarily at the first grind of his professor’s hips. “P-professor Malfoy?” he got out breathlessly.  
  
He got a sharp, painfully amused smirk in response. Professor Malfoy’s eyes danced and glittered and his hand still held onto Al’s tightly. “Eyes on your potion, Mr. Potter. It’s a delicate combination you’re handling.”  
  
Al nodded weakly but his Potions text may as well have been written in Mermish for all he was getting out of it now. He closed his eyes while Professor Malfoy slid his cock up and down the crack of his arse with agonizing slowness. Al’s free fingers clenched and unclenched around his stirring rod in time with the thrusts against his bum. He couldn’t help but appreciate its phallic shape in his hand.  
  
He wasn’t sure if he wanted Professor Malfoy to stop or continue – and with much more vigor at that. He’d thought he might be a pouf for some time now but then he had met Emmy, a Ravenclaw in his year, and all thoughts of other women, or men, had ceased to exist.  
  
All thoughts of whether or not this counted as cheating when Emmy wasn’t _technically_ his girlfriend left his head too at a particularly forceful grind of Professor Malfoy’s cock and his teasing, “You’re not paying attention, Mr. Potter. What is the purpose of these lessons if you’re not going to utilize their full potential?”  
  
Al tried to arrange that into some semblance of a sense-making sentence but it was long and full of complex English and a good 85% of his brain’s thinking capacity was taken up with ‘gahhhnghhh.’ He managed to work out a breathless and terribly confused, “Sir?”  
  
Professor Malfoy’s sharp smirk was back. “Yes, Mr. Potter?” he asked in an awfully sly tone. His pale fingers left Al’s hand and Al blinked, having forgot they were there at all as Professor Malfoy’s grip had felt very much like an extension of his own fingers. He flexed them curiously while his professor’s hand fluttered down to the edge of the table, back to its original position by Al’s hip. Both sets of long fingers flexed and then Professor Malfoy took a step back and Al let out an embarrassing and clearly distressed mewl.  
  
Before he could think what he was doing, he had reached behind him, grabbed a fistful of Professor Malfoy’s robes near the small of the other man’s back and pulled him forward. That glorious heat and throb of his arousal returned and Al ground back into it purposefully.  
  
Professor Malfoy’s mouth brushed Al’s neck and Al could feel the beginnings of a smile forming against his skin. He shivered and it only took two more toe-curling thrusts agasint his arse before he was coming in his pants. His face was on fire from the exertion and gruesome embarrassment but somehow Professor Malfoy managed not to laugh.  
  
It was another fifteen minutes before Professor Malfoy came, his cock spurting between Al’s arse cheeks. Al came a second time at the feel of it. He almost wondered if his professor had held off as long as possible just to rub Al’s poor stamina in his face.  
  
It was horribly awkward, gathering up his things to leave, trying to make as little noise and take up as little space as possible. Of course, that was only on his end of things. Professor Malfoy looked as cool as if nothing had happened and Al had to get out before he started to question the whole of his sanity.   
  


♕

  
  
Al dreamt of Professor Malfoy that night. He imagined the man bending him over his desk and shoving his cock in so slow that Albus could feel every inch of it before he took him hard and fast and branded him _his_ for life. Al woke with sticky sheets and a pounding in his head.  
  
During the day, he walked around in a fog, dreading and anticipating the moment he bumped into Draco – who _was_ ‘Draco’ and had been since Al had imagined losing his virginity to him. His nerves were shot and he took to jumping whenever anyone addressed him. It turned out to be a moot issue though as, despite passing by the Potions classroom about sixty more times than usual, he didn’t catch even a glimpse of its professor. He knew tomorrow he wouldn’t be so lucky, or unlucky, as it would be his first Potions lesson since, well, _it_.  
  
He didn’t get a lick of sleep obsessing over being in the same room with Draco again which made the reality of it entirely underwhelming. He spent the whole of the lesson with every muscle in his body strung tight and his cock hanging hot and heavy between his legs but Draco scarcely seemed to notice him. His eyes didn’t linger on Al or even pass by him an inordinate number of times. It was as though nothing had changed.  
  
The bell rang for end of lesson and Al tried to content himself with the idea that Draco _had_ to behave as if nothing had changed or he could get sacked. He waited for everyone else to gather up their things while he dithered in his own gathering. He pretended to have a question for Draco while the last of the students wandered out.  
  
Al’s grin hurt his cheeks when they were finally alone. A shy, “Hi,” was the best he could come up with.  
  
Draco was sitting at his desk, head bent over some parchment or other. His eyes flicked up, a mix of impatience and confusion in them. “Hello, Mr. Potter,” he said cleanly. When Al only stood in front of him, jaw dropped, he added, “Is there something I can assist you with?”  
  
Al swallowed, seriously doubting his sanity now, and answered back in a demure voice, “No, nothing, sir.”  
  
Draco gave a dismissive nod without looking at him as though he’d expected nothing less.  
  
Al turned and hurried away, feeling every inch the idiot. He’d expected he would have to fend off Draco’s advances; now he wondered if he’d ever actually made any. If that private lesson had really happened, there was no way Draco could have dismissed him so coolly.   
  
Right?  
  


♕

  
  
“It did happen!”  
  
“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” Draco’s eyes were bleary as he pulled his robe tighter around his middle. Al tried not to stare at his bare collarbone. He already half-wanted to forget the whole thing simply because confronting a professor outside his rooms about the fact that they’d been humping each other was not at the top of his to-do list.  
  
Thankfully he was still fueled by righteous indignation after finding his trousers with the unquestionable stain on their backside. “The other day, you made me come.” He swallowed, trying to stay bold and not blush too horribly over saying ‘come’ in front of his professor.  
  
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “I don’t remember ever saying I didn’t,” he said nonchalantly.  
  
Al opened his mouth to retort when Draco’s words registered. He deflated. “Then why did you act like you didn’t?”  
  
“You’re a child, Mr. Potter.” Draco looked at him as if to say, ‘case in point.’ He stared down at his fingernails with a frown. “It’s improper of me to take advantage.” He said it with all the boredom and repetitiveness of reading off a warning label. “Not to mention, children tend to attach importance to such acts willy-nilly.”  
  
“I’m not a child,” Al ground out. His hands shot out to grip Draco’s doorframe. “And I want you.” Al wasn’t prepared for how true those words actually were. It nearly knocked him back a step.  
  
Draco snorted. “You’re sixteen. You want your hole plugged.”  
  
There was no reason that should have had the effect it did. It was vulgar and patronizing and it made Albus’ cock fill until it hung hot and heavy and quivering between his legs in anticipation. Al supposed _that_ was because he was sixteen. His gaze flicked down to Draco’s crotch and he reached out a hand with daring that was mostly feigned. He gripped the not-uninterested bulge in Draco’s pants and said, “And I think you’re more than capable of providing that.”  
  
Draco looked impressively unimpressed with someone else’s hand on his cock and Al envied him that terribly. He glanced down and almost shrugged. “I suppose I am at that.”  
  
It was painfully unromantic. Draco pushed him down on the couch face first and Al scrambled to brace himself while Draco pulled down his trousers and pants, gave him a half-arsed stretching and pressed into him. He fucked with the single-minded determination to climax while Al took care of himself. Again, he came twice before Draco had finished and they collapsed in a sweaty heap together. Draco’s sweat-slicked chest snug against his back.  
  
It was quite probably the most perfect moment of Al’s life.  
  


♕

  
  
“What’s wrong with your face?”  
  
Al blinked. “What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong with my face?’” he asked, anger creeping into his tone. “Nothing’s wrong with my face,” he growled.  
  
“Yes, there is,” James insisted, poking him in the cheek. He poked again. “It looks more normal now.” He took an Uncle Ron-worthy bite of his shepherd’s pie. “You’ve been smiling, but a lot. Like you’re happy.”  
  
Al’s forehead furrowed. “I’m always happy.”  
  
James shook his head with a snort. “No, you’re not. That’s kind of your thing.” One of Al’s brows shot up and James explained, “Like Lily’s a showman, or a show-woman, that is, and I’m mad into Quidditch and you’re unhappy.” He shrugged. “You were always the most miserable little kid. You never really grew out of it.”  
  
“I wasn’t—I’m not miserable,” Al defended half-heartedly.  
  
James shrugged again and said, mouth half-full, “I’m not saying this to get at you. Everyone knew it about you and they liked you anyway, including me and mum and dad and Lils.” He squinted. “But lately you’ve been happy, _real_ happy. Before I thought you just _weren’t_ , like you weren’t capable of it. Now I feel like we failed you because you were capable and we just never managed it.” Al couldn’t do much more than stare at his brother and James smiled a bit. “You don’t remember mum saying when you were eight that she didn’t have one picture of you where you were smiling?” Al frowned, trying to remember. “You always smiled after that but it never looked so real as it does now.”  
  
Al swallowed, knowing exactly the thing that had put the smile on his face. He shot a quick glance up at the staff table. Only a few weeks ago, he and Draco had fallen into a routine that had them seeing each other three or four times a week in his rooms. Al couldn’t deny that what he felt with Draco was new but he never would have guessed that it was anything so simple as happiness.  
  
As he was looking away, Draco’s eyes caught his. Al smiled at him.  
  
It was one of the easiest smiles he’d ever given.  
  


♕

  
  
Winter hols were brutal. The sky was gray and the snow was just deep enough that it breached the rim of Al’s trainers and piled in. He got a cold only two days home and he felt like he’d spent the entirety of the break wet and cold and back to miserable. His nose was red and sore from being over-attended and he’d spilled hot soup on himself twice. Not to mention, the extra potions work was far beyond him and, even though his private sessions had devolved into giggling and groping, he missed being able to simply _ask_ when things confused him.  
  
Also, he’d suspected for some time now that he might be falling in love with Draco. The fact that being away from him for so long felt a lot like physical torture cleared one of two things up there.  
  


♕

  
  
Al didn’t make it a week after he was back before he let Draco in on his secret.  
  
Draco had been standing by the window, preparing a drink and staring at the falling snow. He was beautiful in a very real way. Albus watched the muscles in his back tense and then ease. “I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen,” he said in an odd sort of voice.  
  
It made something in Al’s gut squirm in warning. He sat up in bed, the sheet slipping up his thigh as he planted his foot. “You wanted me to fall in love with you?” he asked with a grin.  
  
Draco took a careful sip of his drink. Albus thought it might be scotch. “Of course I did. What else was the point of this without it?”  
  
Al frowned. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“Harry Potter’s son, in love with _me_ ,” he said almost wistfully. He took another long pull.  
  
No. _No_ , was all Albus could think. This couldn’t be happening. Not _Draco_. Al could feel his eyes starting to burn and he blinked it away. “This—this _too_ was about my dad,” he said hoarsely, his voice beyond strained. But of course it was because when was anything not?  
  
Draco laughed, low and cruel and it twisted inside of Al until something broke. “You truly are a child if you ever thought it was anything else.” Draco finally turned and looked at him with dark eyes. “Tell me honestly, what did you think this was for me?” Al stared down at the bed sheet, willing his emotions back under his control. “Answer me,” Draco demanded.  
  
But Albus couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the childish fantasies he’d buried deep down in himself. The childish fantasies that Draco was now taking great pleasure in crushing beneath his heel.  
  
“Did you think I’d fallen in love with you?” he mocked. “I’m over two decades your senior, boy, and I’ve had over two decades more experience.” He stalked over to the bed and gripped Albus’ chin in a tight grip, forcing his gaze up. “You’re not the worst lover I’ve taken but you’re also far from the best.” Al cringed but Draco wasn’t finished. He sounded genuinely curious when he asked, “Did you think you tempted me somehow? Did you think you were enough that I would risk my livelihood, my son’s derision, and my marriage to bed you?”  
  
Albus had never even thought of Draco’s wife as an obstacle – it was well known that their marriage was an open one and Al had always understood that. How could anyone so attractive be expected never to stray? As for Draco’s son, he’d hated Al since day one and the feeling was more than mutual – there was no ground to be gained or lost there. Albus hardened his gaze and spat out, “So instead you did all that for revenge.” He could only assume that’s what all this had been about for Draco, bedding Harry Potter’s son to get back at him for some imagined or insignificant slight.  
  
“Absolutely,” Draco shot back with a hiss. “I can’t get at your father anymore,” he said with an overlarge grin that made him look slightly demented. “He knows if he ever agreed to meet with me I would break him,” he finished viciously. He held up a hand and stabbed himself pointedly in the temple with his finger. “You see, he erased me. He wanted to have you and your other pathetic siblings and he couldn’t do it with me fogging up his brain. But he knows something’s missing when it comes to me and he suspects – _correctly_ – that I would remind him of it given half the chance.”  
  
His father and Draco? Albus would swear he could feel the fingers digging in and tearing his insides in two. Draco had never cared for him at all. He was simply collateral damage in a war his father had started years ago. Al’s eyes were dry and scratchy. “I’ll never tell him,” he said defiantly and his voice shook. “You’ll never see it on his face.”  
  
Draco snorted. “I don’t need it, boy. I don’t need him to know because I’ll never forget. And neither will you. You’ll always remember that _I_ was your first, you’ll feel me enter you in the dead of night when sleep won’t come and you will always love me better than any boy that comes along. You’ll hate your father until his last breath. And you’ll pine for me until yours. I cannot think of a better revenge to take on a man who did the same to me.”  
  
Al couldn’t look at this broken shell of a man – a man who, despite himself, Albus _had_ come to love. He hated himself for not seeing it, that Draco had belonged to someone else – someone else dear to him. He should have known, he should have seen it, and then it never would have got to this. Draco’s words may well have been prophecy because Albus knew – without doubt – they would come to pass. His heart had been stolen, wrapped up in Draco’s blackened claws and he would love his wonderful and terrible thief until the end of time.  
  
Just as Draco would love Albus’ father.


End file.
